


Tattoos: Remastered

by Minhoandthebabes



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minhoandthebabes/pseuds/Minhoandthebabes
Summary: Long story short, I wrote this for fun originally, but then I based my entire senior year of college on the concept, and here is the final product in a series of short stories.The remastered version I rewrote in 24 hours when my professor told me it wasn't good enough the day before I had to read it in front of a crowd :D
Relationships: Kim Jonghyun/Lee Jinki | Onew
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Tattoos: Remastered

If asked, Jinki would tell you he’d been cursed with his tattoo at the age of 16 and his life seemed to have gone downhill from there. Ever since that fateful day, he couldn’t make heads or tales of the marking. Jinki sat in front of his birthday cake—his 16th, the “coming of age,”—and he knew that as soon as the clock struck midnight, the first words spoken to him by his soulmate would appear somewhere on his body, as it had for everyone else.

His family and friends sat around him impatiently, waiting for the bell to chime. His father would check his watch, just to make sure that all the clocks were accurate. Next to him, his friends were either playing with their own tattoos or looking on eagerly, still too young to receive their own.

“Think of a wish,” his mom offered, trying to find a way to pass the time, “a wish for when you blow out the candles.”

Jinki closed his eyes. Just let them appear in an easy place to find, he thought to himself. Almost on cue, their grandfather clock struck twelve and Jinki took a deep breath, blowing out all the candles in one go before he opened his eyes again.

Like magic there scrawled on his arm in smooth cursive were the last words he was expecting to see: For 30 dollars you can have the rest of me. Jinki’s eyes widened in horror. What did that mean? What could that mean? He immediately covered his forearm with a napkin.

“What does it say Jinki?” His little brother asked.

“Um, nothing. It’s more conversational,” Jinki lied, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

His mother shook her head, “Come on, it can’t be that bad, let me see!” She tried to pull the napkin from his arm but Jinki ran away, hiding the words.

His mother found him sulking a few minutes later in his bedroom. She patted his back in attempts to comfort him even though she hadn’t seen the cause of his distress. Her hand stilled when she saw the markings on his arm, and Jinki could feel her stiffen beside him. Despite her efforts to calm him, they seemed like empty promises, in his mind his life was over.

Jinki remembered that night as if it were yesterday. It was hard to escape the bitter memory, especially with the dark tattoo residing on his forearm. And now, ten years later, he sat in an office trying to make sense of it still.

It was as if fate had counted the cards and was sitting across the table, laughing at his own cruel joke.

Jinki turned the phrase over in his mind as the black bar pulsed impatiently on his desktop. He shook his head and tried again, It was as if fate was sitting on the other side of the table, holding your cards and him… No, no that’s not it either.

Jinki’s hand ran over the thin skin on his forearm as he spoke, looking at a document he had opened weeks ago that still remained empty. He was supposed to be writing his life story, but he could barely get past the first line. This sentence was supposed to invite the audience in to read what he had to say, but so far nothing seemed to work. His fingers traced over the cursed words he had received. It was a tattoo like everyone else’s, the only difference being the crude content.

A knock came from outside his cubicle and Jinki jumped, immediately unrolling his shirt to cover his tattoo. His manager stood there, coffee cup in hand with his elbow nonchalantly resting on the frame of his tiny office, “Remember those case files I sent you? Well, Boss wants them today, so you better start or it’ll be my head.”

Jinki nodded, “Sorry, I was just taking a break.” His hand swiped over the keyboard, hiding his personal document from view.

The man raised an eyebrow, “Just don’t let your personal work stop you from your actual work.”

The accusation wasn’t exactly inaccurate, and Jinki knew it. He leaned forward, trying to look focused, "Believe me, it’s not.”

As a copy editor at a law firm, his personal anecdotes had no place in the office. Yet every free moment he had, he worked on his dream job. In Jinki’s mind, his true calling was writing—especially screenplays. He enjoyed constructing scenes, most of which consisted of his own personal stories. Ever since he had received the tattoo he had been working hard to make sense of it, writing seemed to be the only thing that could help him achieve that goal. What started as a way to understand himself became his own artistic journey through college.

Unfortunately, with his job, his personal work was promptly stopped when someone gave him a task that they could just as easily have done themselves. There was such a thing as spell check and he swore if he saw “moot” spelled like “mutt” again he would quit right then and there.

His manager smiled, “Good, that packet needs to be finished and on my desk at the end of the day. Don’t forget it.”

He walked away and Jinki finally exhaled, not realizing that he had been holding his breath ever since his manager had caught him slacking off. Deciding to save his inner existential debate for later, Jinki looked at the empty document one last time before throwing himself back into work. This phrase he had been toying with in his head would have to go unused, for now.

His tattoo had been like a scar for him. Instead of a beautiful phrase to reflect on, he had this awful memory etched into his skin. Every time he forgot about it, someone in the office would elope and the memory would return, tarnishing the moment of bliss. He would return to feeling ostracized, one of the “have not’s” in society. His age wasn’t helping at all either. The older he got, the more lonely he felt. He was like a cake past its expiration date.

The office was empty when Jinki finally finished reviewing the case files. He stood at the printer, coffee cup in hand as he waited for his edits to print. The phrase returned to him again.

“It was as if fate had counted the cards and was sitting across the table, laughing at his own cruel joke,” Jinki mumbled. He played with words, replacing them in his mind. His hand came to his shirt and he pulled back the fabric. In a gentle cursive, the phrase was still written: For 30 dollars you can have the rest of me. He rubbed at the words as if he could erase them, but their permanency persisted.

Jinki rested his head on the wall behind him, waiting for the sound of the printer to finally stop filling the empty room. With the office dark, Jinki could see his reflection in the glass of the window across from him. His suit was wrinkled and his hair falling, as the gel from that morning had worn off. The bags under his eyes were unnoticeable in the reflection, but he knew they were there. As he stood, he remembered it was Monday. He always bought groceries on Monday. Though, of course, it was only when he wasn’t stuck doing work for others. Grumbling, Jinki grabbed the packet, stapled it, and tossed the finished product on his boss’s desk.

Bundled up and ready to brace the cold, Jinki left his building. He passed his regular grocery store, knowing it would be closed for the night. As he walked, the winds whipped around him. His mind wandered back to his youth.

After he had received his tattoo, he tried his best to hide the words, but given the placement, it wasn’t exactly easy to cover up. It was during P.E. when Terry Jones’ shrill voice screamed in the locker rooms, “Jinki’s going to marry a slut!” The words rang out in his mind and stung him harder than the wind ever could. Later, the boys tackled him down to see if Terry had been telling the truth.

After that day, students would post dirty magazines on his locker for all to see. Most of the girls avoided him too, treating him as if he were soiled. Jinki’s only wish at the time was to make it through high school so he could escape from his horrible reality. Every day, when he came home from school, his mother was always there for him to wipe his tears and bandage his wounds. It was obvious to Jinki that she wanted to be a support system for him rather than the one tearing him down. Despite everything, she loved her son and knew she would love whoever he brought home someday.

Sadly he feared he would never be able to bring someone home, not at this rate. As soon as he was of age he had attempted to look in the only place he could possibly find his “one true love:” a brothel. It was the only place he had any inkling where he would possibly find the one, especially with the rumors that had followed him.

After frequenting strip clubs for almost a month, Jinki realized that none of the strippers actually had tattoos in the first place. He would sit in front of one he thought looked even remotely beautiful to him, but most of the time they said nothing. There was a moment when he was sitting alone, observing the dancers when a woman came up behind him.

“For 30 bucks you can touch them.”

His body tensed at the words. They had been so close to his own, but when he turned around he saw an older woman that he could have only assumed was 40, maybe 50 years older than him. Terrified at the prospect of someone that old being “the one,” he ran from the brothel, and never looked back. He had discovered the seedy underside of his society and shuddered at the thought of those who “didn’t belong.” At least he had been given words, no matter how much he despised them.

As he walked, the wind started to die down. He didn’t know where he was anymore; it was as if the wind had jumbled his thoughts and hid his trail home. He slowed down to process where he had arrived. His mind went back to the women he would see working in those brothels. Despite their profession, they had always seemed so happy to him. Their faces were bright and smiling for the men that paid for them to dance. He thought back to his document. Maybe he could write his stories for them, those that felt lost in society yet still lived happy lives. The longer he thought about it the more guilty he felt. He had spent so much of his time feeling bad for himself when the person that was attached to these words could be anyone, and they would be someone he loved.

That was the point of fate after all.

As he came to his conclusion, the wind changed direction bringing the sweet smell of chicken to his nose. The smell drew him in and brought him right to the front door of a chicken shop that was tucked away from the cold air. With a weight off his shoulders, he decided to pamper himself. When he entered the shop he found himself standing in a line that went to the door. It was filled with college students and people who looked like him with bags under their eyes and heavy briefcases in hand. Jinki opened his phone and continued working on his personal document from earlier. The words finally flowed from his fingers typing word after word of his story until he was standing at the counter.

The man behind the counter smiled brightly, “What can I get for you, sir?”

Jinki looked up from his phone. He looked at the menu and chewed his lip, “Can I get some chicken wings and fries?”

Before the cashier could ask the next question, the blonde man next to him jumped in: “For 30 dollars you can have the rest of me.” There was a moment’s pause. The man’s eyes bulged out in horror as he realized his mistake; his face grew noticeably red, “I- I mean ‘it.’ Oh god, I meant ‘it’, the chicken. ‘It’, yes.” As the man spoke he continued to gesture to the chicken as a way of clarification.

Jinki’s eyes widened as he took him in. He was noticeably shorter with petite features that were broken up by his now blushing red cheeks. “What did you say?” he whispered.

The man averted his gaze, trying to distract himself from looking at Jinki. “Sorry,” he practically mumbled.

Jinki’s features softened and a grin spread across lips. “When do you get off work?”

The other man started to play with the ties of his apron before moving to stir the frier that noticeably had nothing in it. “In about an hour, why?”

Jinki nodded. He could sense the anxiousness from the other man, “Want to get a drink with me?”

“Really?” the man hesitated. “What’s your name?”

“Jinki,” he paused before asking, “And yours?”

“Jonghyun.”

Jinki smiled, “It’s nice to meet you,” his eyes crinkling into little crescents.

Jonghyun’s ears were bright red. He nodded and looked away, going back to the empty frier only to be greeted by the embarrassment of realizing he hadn’t even added fries yet.

Smirking, Jinki grabbed his order number and went to sit at an empty table that was tucked away in a secluded corner of the restaurant. His foot was tapping anxiously as he watched the clock ticking at a snail’s pace. What was he going to share with this awkward man? Jinki knew deep down that he was “the one;” but he had spent so many years convincing himself that this moment would never come. And now he had no idea what to expect.

Jinki checked his watch again, only half an hour left until he would get to truly meet his soulmate. He couldn’t help but glance over to see the man again. Their eyes met briefly, and Jinki wanted to look away, but Jonghyun gave him a slight wave, calming his nerves. There were so many questions that needed to be answered and he had no idea where to start. He caught Jonghyun watching him and looked back down at his hands. The curiosity consumed him; he wanted to know what Jonghyun’s childhood was like, what dreams he had, what his favorite ice cream flavor was, but for now, all he could do was wait. The black words on his wrist seemed to glare at him. He remembered the original solution he had to find his “true love” and laughed at the memory. It had been his only solution to get the letters to fade, not even caring who he would meet in order to make that happen. Jonghyun probably didn’t need to know that Jinki had assumed he was a stripper.

As Jinki was inspecting his tattoo, he heard someone approach him, glancing up he saw it was Jonghyun grinning at him. Jinki hid away his forearm, concealing the words out of habit. He cleared his throat and tried to act cool, crossing his legs and looking off into the distance. “So, you come here often?”

Jonghyun sat down across from him and rolled his eyes, “I work here, Jinki. So, yes.”

Jinki cut the act and leaned forward in his chair, “So, are you in school or something?”

Jonghyun answered with a warm smile that made Jinki feel butterflies in his stomach, something he had never felt in this context before. “I’m finishing up my senior year this semester.”

He just couldn’t help it and the questions started pouring out, “What are you studying? Are your parents paying for your school? What are your hobbies? Where did you grow up?”

Jonghyun seemed to be taken aback by the barrage of questions but he tried not to look too surprised. “What’s with the twenty questions?” He asked as a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

It only took a moment for Jinki to realize that he hadn’t revealed himself to the other. Pink dusted his cheeks when he exposed the black text on his arm. It was the first time he had willingly shown them to another human being and he was practically shaking, half from excitement, half from nerves. “Well, you said my words.”

Jonghyun’s hand came up to brush the text, “Wait, these are really your words?” He couldn’t help but laugh, “You can’t be serious!” He laughed again, the joyous sound filling the quiet restaurant.

“Why would I lie about this?” Jinki brought a hand to his chest, he was nearly offended by Jonghyun’s remark, the laughter giving him a familiar sense of shame. But then he noticed Jonghyun was lifting his shirt slightly to show his abdomen.

Scrawled in Jinki’s handwriting just above Jonghyun’s pelvic bone were the words: What did you say?

“See?” Jonghyun dropped his shirt, “It’s me!” Jinki must have looked relieved because Jonghyun then added, “Did you think I was a stripper or something?”

Jinki nodded, but Jonghyun was already laughing across from him, hitting his knee with the loud guffaws, “I couldn’t help it!” ho said in attempts to defend himself.

Jinki stood and held out his hand for Jonghyun which he graciously took. The hand felt warm and soft in his palm, the weight a new comfort he had never experienced. “So, about that drink. What type of coffee do you like?”

“For thirty dollars maybe I’ll let you know.”

  
Originally Posted in 2017


End file.
